Chapter 25: The Servants of Ketzalcoatl
Itzcoatl walked through the main market located in the Pericu quarter of Matanchen, not far from the shore. On his otherwise bare shoulders he wore a jaguar-fur shawl and carried a ceremonial jade-tipped brass spear. Walking behind each of his shoulders were three more men, six in total, each carrying an imperial-produced musket with a polished bayonet fixed onto the end. Perhaps it was not the most direct route, but the cotton tarps that stretched across the narrow streets guarded him from the sun that beat down much hotter than up in the highlands of Tenochtitlan. On his way he nearly tripped over several children who were running about, punting a rubber ulama ball with their forearms, almost falling into two piles of salt and a red dust that was presumably some sort of ground pepper.
Although the indigenous Nayari people made up the majority population of the city, Pericu trade was its lifeblood, and the Pericu quarter was its beating heart. Matanchen was perhaps one of the oldest continuously inhabited sites in Mesoamerica going back millennia, but until well under a thousand years ago, it was one of the many small and unimportant fishing villages dotting the hair’s-width coastal strip between the central highlands and the vast Pacific that never supported the same type of great maritime commerce and culture that existed in the east. When the Pericu arrived, they brought salt from Awaa Cala, glass from Kutsan, pottery from Ashipewahk, minerals and lumber from Dadacia, wool from Cochiman herders, and the elusive Pericu pepper in exchange for Mesoamerican cotton, gold, cacao, spices, honey, and octli and balche. In the span of a few decades, the town transformed from a sleepy village into a thriving port, connecting the Nayaris to West America. In Tenochtitlan, the Pericu, referred to as the “Pelicatecs”, came to be known as the “The Taino of the West”– a bizarre group of outsiders with alien customs who nonetheless played a vital economic role as seafaring merchants.
At the other end of the market, he reached a large, stone building with several chimneys with vents on top. As he approached the large arched doorway, he glanced at a sign written in the Pericu script on top and Meshica script underneath. As he read the words “Yenecami Inn”, he knew he was at the right place. He held his arm down and behind him, palm facing back towards the men behind him, ordering them to stop. He reached his arm behind his right shoulder, and with a come hither motion he ordered the first musketeer behind his right shoulder to enter with him.
The building was significantly cooler on the inside than it was outside. There were a number of tables around which men were gathered, drinking a variety of beverages of a variety of colors out of glass cups. Around one table, a large number of men were gathered, cheering over some game which Itzcoatl could only determine if he could see over the heads of the large crowd. To the right, he saw a long stone counter, on top of which a middle aged Pericu man with three colorful feathers sticking out of his head bun was pouring drinks out of glass bottles which he kept on the shelf behind him. Itzcoatl approached the counter and struck it with his staff to get the man’s attention. The Pericu man, who was busy wiping off a bottle with a piece of cloth, glanced over, finished what he was doing, and placed the bottle back on the shelf before making his way over.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m not from around these parts. You tell me what you recommend.”
“Well,” he said, “if you’re from elsewhere in the empire I’d assume you’re used to octli and balche, but of course we also import some drinks from abroad.”
“Like Kutsan wine?”
“So you’re familiar with what Matanchen has to offer.”
“Of course, but I would also love to be familiar with the person serving me.”
“The name’s Yenec.”
“Yenec, that’s a peculiar name.”
“Well, my parents named me for the city our ancestors came from, Yenecami. The inn’s named after the place too. My ancestors who built this place figured the name would be a comfort to fellow travelers from the peninsula.”
“You ever been there?”
“Of course! In my younger days I ran with some sailors up and down the Sea of Aztlan. I’d pass by Yenecami all the time on the way north.”
“You’ve been to Kutsan?”
“Yes, I’ve even been all the way up to Orayvi and prayed to Maasaw Tuparan in the Great Kiva.”
Itzcoatl did not know much about the Pericu religious practices, but he could tell the smiling innkeeper was happy to be asked about his travels.
“I’ve never been in a Kiwa.”
“They’re lovely. Temples with great underground chambers where you can really commune with the creator and his son.”
“This sounds an awful lot like what those Kwistecs believe.”
“No sir, of course not,” he responded. “Those who follow Maasaw Tuparan are loyal to Tenochtitlan. We would never kill countless of our human brothers like the Salvation Army. But anyway, I could also tell you about my travels to Awaa Cala. Beautiful white sands and salt formations. All of the salt in the world comes from there, and that’s not even to mention the whales that come every year. They have an absolutely beautiful kiva there as well. Where are you from, may I ask?”
“Tenochtitlan.”
Yenec looked at the jade spear and noticed the man behind Itzcoatl holding a musket.
“Huh, we don’t get very many imperial agents in these parts. What brings you here?”
“Local tax records show that the price and quantity of sales of Kutsan wine have gone up dramatically. It seems that a lot of the sales have been coming from your establishment.”
“Well who doesn’t love wine? If you would like to try some we have plenty now that the latest shipment came in.”
“Has anyone here bought your wine in bulk?”
“A few people actually.”
“Do you have any names?”
“Well, there is one person. Cheyuwac, the priest. He runs the central Kiva.”
“Oh, is there an upcoming Pericu religious festival involving grape wine?”
“No, not particularly, at least not in the lands of the Pericu. I mean, we like it, but we mostly use nochtli wine for our religious rituals.”
Itzcoatl paused to contemplate. Seeing the look on his face, Yenec continued.
“I know, typically most of you locals associate the Pericu with Kutsan grape wine. Truth is we never really grew grapes in the land of the Pericu. That mostly comes from parts of Kutsan and Dadacia. I guess you don’t really associate us with nochtli so much since you lot already have that here.”
“I guess my question is,” said Itzcoatl–
“Hey Yenec!” a man shouted in a think Pericu accent, stumbling towards the bar and slamming down a coin. “Pour me some more of that Octli?”
“Of course,” said Yenec, pouring the bottle into a small glass. Itzcoatl looked on as the man who had just unintentionally shouted in his ear lifted the shot and gulped it down in a matter of seconds. He left another coin as if he had forgotten to pay and walked away.
“Sir, you forgot your– eh, forget it.”
Yenec turned back towards Itzcoatl.
“Sorry. As you were saying?”
“My question is, why do you think this priest of your Pericu religion is purchasing wine in bulk if you have no such ritual involving it? Do you think he’s having a big wine party?”
“No sir, that doesn’t sound like the Cheyuwac I know. Perhaps he’s buying it for someone else.”
Itzcoatl’s stare tightened. Considering it a confused expression, Yenec elaborated.
“Tuparan tells us to help and cooperate peacefully with others, so maybe he’s just being helpful. Maybe there are just a lot more people in the city who just drink a lot more wine for some reason and he’s doing them a favor.”
“So let’s say there was another group of people in the city that used wine for ritual purposes.”
“Well, I’m not sure who that would be, but I’m sure that Cheyuwac would be perfectly willing to–”
Yenec noticed that Itzcoatl’s eyebrows raised and his eyes widened as he turned to look at the musketeer behind his shoulder. He decided he had said too much.
“You know what?” Itzcoatl said. “That’s enough. Thank you. Please, if you could just let us know where we could find him?”
“Well sir, he’s a priest of Maasaw. You can usually find him by the town Kiwa.”
***
It was not a particularly large mass, but it was good enough. They may not have had their own building, but the dense forests outside of Matanchen were tranquil and provided shelter from the threat of imperial agents. The fact that Petlo was able to help so many flee west after the failed rebellion was a miracle. The fact that Petlo was able to build a congregation of dozens in this strange new place was also a miracle. The fact that Petlo and his comrades were able to convert local Nayaris and convince them to join the congregation was a miracle even more so.
One of the greatest miracles of all, however, had been the hospitality of the locals. Most people out east had never met a Pericu or any other Maasawist for that matter, but they instantly found a connection with these peace-loving individuals who, although were of a different faith, shared similar values. Petlo had found comradery in the local Maasawist priest, and he knew that his friend would be there any second as per usual to deliver the communion wine.
All of a sudden, from the woods behind every tree emerged men with metal chest plates and muskets fixed with bayonets who began to charge towards the congregation. Several dozen men were now crowded together in the narrow opening of the forest that was once their sanctuary. In front of them all stepped a man with bare shoulders who wore a jaguar-fur shawl and carried a ceremonial jade-tipped brass spear.
“In the name of the Emperor Montezuma VI and of the gods whom he serves, the Servants of Ketzacoatl place you under arrest.”
Petlo looked at the leader of the musketeers. Over his shoulder, he saw a man in white linen with a blue satin head wrap held in place by a leather band with a red feather sticking out.
“Cheyuwac!” Petlo said. “We trusted you! What is the meaning of this!”
Musketeer to Itzcoatl’s right raised his weapon towards the Christian priest but Itzcoatl held his hand out to the sound telling him to stand back.
“Don’t kill him. The emperor says that as many as possible are to be captured alive for sacrifice. Now take them away!” he ordered. “Tie them up and throw them into the wagons!”
As the men marched off with the captured Christians, Itzcoatl and Cheyuwac stayed behind.
“I did what you asked. Is our agreement kept?”
“Yes,” Itzcoatl said. “You and your people are not to face any harm. However, if we catch you aiding the Kwistecs any further, the Pericu will be sacrificed alongside them. Is that clear.”
“Of course,” said the priest.
“Good. Glad we have arrived at an understanding.”
Itzcoatl followed his men and the Christian prisoners. Cheyuwac remained in silence.